Author's note: I am 1000000% sure that there are typos in here and I apologize in advance for that. I spent all day yesterday rewriting this chapter because I hated it (and still kinda do) lmao. So again, sorry for the typos and I'll correct them as the week goes on!


Rosinante's ears were ringing. His mouth was dry. His lungs itched.

He needed a cigarette.

"I think he's waking up."

"Oh thank the blues."

"Can someone page Dr. Kureha?"

He blinked and started to rub at his eyes.

Why was it so bright? His apartment never had this much light in it? He preferred to rely on the natural light rather than have all the lamps on. And since when were his lights so fucking white? Did Sengoku do that? Garp maybe?

"Rosinante?"

He rubbed his eyes a little longer and blinked away the dryness. Once he did, the first thing that came into focus was a man with circular glasses and silver hair with a silver braided beard to match.

"Sengoku? Turn the lights down, would you?" Rosinante groaned. He covered his eyes and added a quick, "and can you pass me my cigarettes?"

"Who you giving orders to, Punk?"

He was smacked upside the head and Rosinante actually whined and moved his hands away from his eyes to rub his head.

"Um! Please refrain from hitting the patient!"

Rosinante narrowed his eyes against that god awful white lighting and looked around to see Garp on his left and Sengoku on his right.

He shot a scowl at Garp, ready to tell him he was too old for this bullshit but stopped himself when the rest of the room came into focus.

The white lights made sense then. No wonder.

He was in a hospital room. That's why the lights were so harsh, why the walls were a soft cream, and why he was in a bed that was a little too small for him. That's why he could smell antiseptic in the air and why Garp and Sengoku were on either side of him.

"What happened?"

"What happened was that you were drugged," a new voice answered.

Rosinante watched an elderly woman in a white coat enter his little hospital room. Her face was covered in wrinkles, she wore a wicked grin, and her eyes sparkled with a sense of knowledge that radiated off of her.

Pushing himself away from the wall once she walked in was another doctor in a white coat. He was much younger, probably not even twenty-five. He was smaller and had a head of bushy brown hair and big deer-like eyes. He just barely reached the woman's shoulder but he had a sort of determined look on his face that Rosinante could appreciate.

"It's a good thing you're so damn big. Otherwise, those drugs would have been the end of you. They would have killed a normal person twice over," the woman continued. She grinned at Rosinante and held her hand out to him, shaking it with an astounding grip for someone her age.

"I'm Dr. Kureha and this is my fellow, Dr. Tony Chopper."

His head was spinning.

"Who the hell drugged you, Brat? What the hell were you doing that someone even had that opportunity?" Garp asked, placing his hand at the back of Rosinante's neck in a firm grip.

He didn't even have to think about it. He already knew.

The bar. Monet. The shot she insisted he take. The bourbon with the flecks of gold—the flecks of gold that had mysteriously been absent from his own glass when they'd been obvious in hers.

Then he remembered the pain he'd been in that morning. The way he gagged and whimpered for relief. The way he could barely stand because it had all been too much.

"What about my chest?"

Dr. Kureha tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes into slits.

"What do you mean?"

"My chest," Rosinante reiterated. He pressed his hand against his sternum and waited for that horrible twinge to appear but it never did. There might have been a gentle breath of pain or a soft whisper. The usual phantom pain even.

But that tangible, overwhelming throbbing from earlier that morning?

It was gone.

He could feel his brows narrow in confusion and he tugged on the collar of his hospital gown to look down at his torso. It was clean. Just the usual map of disfiguration. Just the standard mottled flesh and warped scars.

"There's nothing," he whispered beneath his breath, more so to himself than to the doctors.

"We were just as confused as you were," Sengoku said. "You were having such a fit about it that we thought someone mutilated you. But when we looked, you were fine."

Sengoku's hand was on his shoulder again, a welcome anchor to keep him grounded in the present.

"The drugs put your body under a lot of stress. It's possible the stress triggered a sort of PTSD flashback and that's where the pain came from," the younger doctor, Dr. Chopper, said.

Rosinante didn't think that was quite right. He could remember the pain from Minion Island and how debilitating it had been. But that pain didn't match what he'd felt that morning. The pain from the island had come almost exclusively from his fear and concern for Law and not from the actual injuries themselves.

It didn't make sense. It had been so real.

His fingers trembled.

Fucking hell. All he wanted was a cigarette.

"Oh," Rosinante muttered. "Well that's good, I guess? Is there any way we can hurry up and get me out of here? I could really use a smoke."

Dr. Kureha laughed so hard that she might as well have been a witch cackling.

"Smoke? Are you out of your damn mind? Do you have any idea what the state of your heart and lungs are?"

Rosinante stared at her as the sensation of trembling in his fingers blossomed to the rest of his hands.

"It's fine. Can we just—"

"It's not fine," Dr. Kureha said abruptly. "The CT doesn't lie. I've already sent your results over to our cardiothoracic surgeon. I'll let him lecture you once he gets out of surgery. It's a goddamn miracle you've made it this long without any serious health issues. I mean honestly. He's probably going to have a damn aneurysm when he looks at them and hears you're a chain smoker."

From the corner of his eye, Rosinante could see Sengoku bristle.

Oh. If only Dr. Kureha knew the full story.

"Listen, I appreciate this but I've already had a cardiothoracic surgeon poke around inside my chest and it was not a great experience so—"

Kureha walked over to the side of his bed and muscled Garp away from him, wagging her finger in his face and saying, "don't you sass me. I don't care how important you think you are. The fact is that you're lucky to be alive and your heart and lungs are in piss poor condition. It would go against any doctor's moral code to let you just waltz out of here."

Rosinante sighed and clenched his fingers in and out of fists as they shook.

He looked away from Kureha and at Sengoku instead.

"Thoughts?" he asked tiredly.

There was something on Sengoku's face that Rosinante couldn't decipher. He seemed torn. That much was evident by the tautness in his shoulders and straightness of his mouth. But he avoided Rosinante and looked at Garp instead.

He was hiding something.

"If this surgeon sees him, how long is he gonna be stuck here? We need him in a courtroom first thing tomorrow morning."

Garp.

Rosinante narrowed his eyes and shot a glance at where Garp was now directing the questions at Kureha. But then he looked back at Sengoku to see that the man had backed away from Rosinante's bed and leaned against the pale wall. He had his eyes closed and refused to spare a glance at Rosinante.

What the hell?

"Does this courtroom really take precedence over his health?" Kureha retorted.

"Yes."

The answer came in unison from both Garp and Rosinante, but when he looked at Sengoku, the man looked even more distressed.

Kureha glared at Garp and Rosinante for a few seconds but conceded with a frustrated sigh.

"Can I convince you to stay for a quick consult at the very least? We'll get all of your paperwork ready and you can leave after that. Otherwise, you're going to have to sign a form that says you're refusing medical treatment."

"How quick is 'quick'?" Rosinante asked. He knew from his past experience with surgeons that "quick" was not always as fast as it implied and he didn't want to be stuck in the goddamn hospital for longer than necessary.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that!" Dr. Chopper promised. "We can have you out of here in the next two or three hours."

Since Sengoku wasn't looking at him, Rosinante looked at Garp.

"We have time for that?"

Garp shrugged.

"It's up to you. I suppose it doesn't matter as long as you're there tomorrow. It's only a little after twelve, so there's time."

Rosinante gave a heavy sigh.

"All right."

"Good. In the meantime we'll do some more bloodwork to check on how much of that drug is still in your system," Kureha said. She nodded at Dr. Chopper and the two left the room.

Rosinante opened his mouth to call Sengoku out on his strange behavior, only he never got the chance because Sengoku followed the doctors out, saying that he had a quick question and then let the door swing shut behind him.

"What isn't he telling me?" Rosinante asked Garp right away.

Garp, because of course, had his pinky finger up his nose and just shrugged.

"Eh. You'll find out in a minute."

Rosinante stared and waited for Garp to meet his gaze but he didn't.

"Garp?"

Garp sighed and pulled his hand away from his face and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared down at Rosinante and said a gruff, "I'm telling you that you'll find out in a minute. I don't want to—"

The door opened again, only this time it revealed Sengoku (who was pinching the bridge of his nose) and a male nurse with a wild head of red hair that covered his eyes.

"Glad to see you're awake, Rosinante," the nurse said. He gave an easy smile and walked over to the bedside with a clipboard. "We're going to need you to sign this form saying that you'd like to be discharged against medical advice."

Rosinante narrowed his eyes.

"Huh?"

The nurse looked over at Sengoku in confusion and Rosinante followed suit.

Again. What the actual hell?

"Sengoku, are you sure—" Garp started but Rosinante cut him off.

"I just asked for your opinion and you were radio silent. What the hell? I thought I was staying for a consult with the cardio doc?"

Sengoku nodded at the nurse.

"Sign the papers, Rosi. We're leaving."

Not that Rosinante was opposed to leaving, because he wasn't. He was ready to go outside and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes and sleep off the rest of the drugs in his system before court tomorrow. He was ready to buy the most expensive set of earplugs he could find in case it was raining and get caught up on his piss poor sleep.

But Dr. Kureha was worried about his health and Garp seemed to be too since he wasn't so outwardly against staying. And hell, even though Sengoku had masked his expression, Rosinante could see the worry as plain as day on the man's face.

He was like a father after all. Rosinante would have to be stupid not to notice how scared Sengoku really was.

"Why?"

"Um," the nurse hummed. "As an RN I really have to recommend that you stay. Dr. Kureha wouldn't disturb any of the surgeons immediately after surgery unless she thought it was severe. And she definitely wouldn't risk interrupting Dr. Tr—"

"Sign the damn papers, Rosinante," Sengoku insisted.

Rosinante huffed and grabbed the clipboard from the nurse. His eyes briefly scanned the legal wording that said the hospital would not be held liable and signed the line at the bottom of the form before handing it back.

His eyes then landed on the nurse's badge.

"Sorry for the confusion, Shachi," Rosinante said tightly. "We're all a little stressed out."

Shachi took the papers back and lingered.

"I'll go get your discharge paperwork ready. You can sit here in the meantime and then we'll pull your IVs in just a bit, okay?"

Rosinante nodded, suddenly feeling very tired but then Sengoku spoke up again.

"How long will this take? We need to get going."

Shachi fiddled with the clipboard.

"Well, it depends. We first have to—"

"Just be quick about it."

Rosinante stared at Sengoku in disbelief.

That was unlike him. Sengoku was usually up his ass about his health and doctor's appointments. Sengoku was usually yelling at him about needing to take better care of himself. Sengoku was usually the first person to shout at Rosi and tell him that he needed to go for regular checkups after the incident.

"What the hell is going on with you?" Rosinante finally blurted.

"Nothing," Sengoku said. "I'm simply trying to make sure you make it through this mess and being in a hospital where your brother could have lackeys is not—"

"It's a little late to worry about Doflamingo finding me," Rosinante said. "He was at a bar by my apartment the other night and he must have contacts there because it was the bartender who drugged me."

"What the hell were you doing at a bar, you little punk?" Garp said, immediately slinging an arm around Rosinante's neck and putting him in a headlock.

Rosinante gritted his teeth and wriggled in Garp's hold.

"I haven't been sleeping and thought a drink might help," he said through his teeth. The pain of the headlock jolted through his neck and shoulders and he was five seconds away from punching Garp in the stomach.

"If you haven't been sleeping you should have said something and someone would have gotten you meds," Garp retorted.

"Leave him alone, Garp," Sengoku said with a tired sigh. "It's been raining."

It was all that needed to be said and Garp let him go.

Rosinante rubbed the back of his neck and glowered.

"Do you want to know about this bar or not?"

"Tell us everything."

He did.

Recounting the story was a good way to pass the time. Rosinante's memory may have been hazy, but he could still put everything together. He told them everything he knew. About the bar itself, about Monet, about Doffy having been there, about the drugged bourbon. He told them everything.

Everything except his memory of seeing a feathery shadow by his window.

Because that was probably just a drug-induced hallucination after all.

…Yeah. Just a hallucination.

Garp let exactly zero time pass between the end of Rosinante's story and making a phone call to the Bureau to send agents to check out the bar. And Sengoku only looked more uncomfortable, veins straining themselves in his neck as he worked through the story.

"We'll send someone to guard your apartment tonight," Sengoku said.

"Fine by me," Rosinante said back.

His eyes fluttered shut and he curled his fingers into a fist again, clenching and unclenching to combat the shaking. The breaths he took were uneven and his lungs rattled. He either needed a cigarette or a shot of bourbon—probably both at this point.

Just one more day. One more day and then he could finally give his testimony and send his brother to Impel Down.

He could do anything for one more day.

"I'm going to make a phone call," Sengoku said, excusing himself from the room.

Rosinante kept his eyes shut and drifted into a shallow sleep as he waited for one of the nurses to come in and remove his IVs so he could get dressed and leave.

He still didn't feel right about leaving so abruptly, especially not after what Kureha said about his heart and lungs, but who was he to argue with Sengoku?

Sengoku did everything for a reason. And if he wanted Rosinante to get the hell out of the hospital sooner rather than later? Then fine. Rosinante could live with that. He trusted Sengoku after all.

He owed him that much.

Then, just as he was about to fall into a deep, blissful sleep, he was woken up by someone coming into his room, saying his name, and removing his IVs.

Well, that was quick…

He couldn't register anything the nurse said. It wasn't Shachi this time, but someone else, a woman with curly brown hair and full, pouty lips.

She went over the disclaimer that he was leaving against medical consent, told him to come back if he changed his mind, and handed him paperwork to sign before he could get dressed and finally leave.

Then, when it was all said and done, he was back in his clothes from the night before and was getting ready to leave, accompanied by Garp and Sengoku.

His clothes were stiff from the dried rainwater, making it uncomfortable to walk around. His pants were tough against his thighs and every time his shirt brushed against his sternum he flinched.

He walked by the nurses' station with Sengoku and Garp flanking either side of him. Only a few more moments and then he would be free to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes without anyone guilt-tripping him.

So what if his lungs were fucked? Dr. Kureha said they were in awful condition and you know what? So long as Rosinante could testify against his brother, he didn't care. If he died from smoking then so be it.

Just as long as Doffy went down with him.

Rosinante's eyes flickered around the hospital thanks to that growing sense of paranoia. He doubted Doffy had any contacts working there, but also wouldn't put it past him. If he had people working at a random, shitty bar in the middle of the city, then who was to say he didn't have someone working in one of the hospitals?

A doctor walked towards Rosinante. He was a tall, lanky thing with a head of dark hair, scrutinizing something on a clipboard with a curled lip. He was in a pair of dark blue scrubs and had a surgical cap on that was black with white swirling hearts on it. And he clearly wasn't paying attention to his surroundings because he almost walked into a nurse while he stared at his clipboard with furious eyes.

Rosinante absentmindedly wondered if all of this hospital's doctors were intimidating. Kureha had been one thing, she was almost witch-like. But this guy? He looked ready to end someone's life if they looked at him the wrong way.

As the doctor got closer, Rosinante stepped to the side to avoid him, but somehow the doctor still ended up harshly bumping shoulders with him.

"Sorry," Rosinante said quickly.

The doctor's eyes flashed up to his face, probably ready to rip him a new one.

But once their gazes met, Rosinante halted. There was something strangely familiar about his eyes. His irises were black and were surrounded by a unique gold ring. He knew those eyes from somewhere.

Didn't he…?

"Let's go," Sengoku said abruptly when Rosinante lingered a moment longer.

The look of murder on the doctor's face dissipated and was replaced with something else. Something confused and lost. Something—

Sengoku's hand planted itself between Rosinante's shoulder blades and pushed until he was walking again.

Rosinante tore his eyes away from the doctor and let his legs carry him down the hall.

But he looked over his shoulder one last time, overcome with burning curiosity.

The doctor was still staring at him with that wild look in his eyes. He stood frozen in the middle of the hallway and watched where Rosinante was being pushed away by Sengoku.

And just as Rosinante was about to turn away, he saw the doctor drop the clipboard and stumble back against the wall. Face white as if he'd seen a ghost.


14 years ago

Law's face was ashen and it made Rosinante sick to his stomach.

The boy coughed until his shoulders shook and his lungs rattled. He curled into himself in the passenger's seat of Rosinante's car and his hands curled into little fists.

"Should I take you to a hospital?" Rosinante asked carefully when the coughing fit ended.

"What? No," Law retorted. He coughed again and Rosinante's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "We're on a job."

They were and Rosinante didn't care.

Currently, he and Law were out following one of Doffy's rivals. The guy was a drug dealer from the North and was stepping in on Doffy's territory. Rosinante was tasked with tracking the guy down to figure out where he lived and then with Law's help, was supposed to set the guy's house on fire to prove a point.

"I don't give a shit about the job. You need a doctor," Rosinante said.

Law rolled his eyes.

"There's no doctor on the planet who can help me."

Rosinante could taste something sour on his tongue.

Doffy promised him six months ago that he would reach out to his sources to try and find a cure for Law, but so far it had been to no avail. Law was still sick and no matter what Rosinante did, he wouldn't improve.

Rosinante followed him around like a mother hen. He piled blankets on the boy while he slept, brought him tea when his coughing spells wouldn't cease, and gave him aspirin when the pain was so bad that Law's eyes would water.

Was it overbearing? Probably. Did Law hate it? Most likely. Did Rosinante care?

No. Not at all.

Law gave a tired sigh and the sound of wetness in his lungs filled the car and then just like that, he doubled over in a coughing fit again.

Rosinante gritted his teeth and put the car in drive.

Doffy's rival be damned. Rosinante could set his house on fire another day.

"Where the hell are you going?" Law asked when they started to pull out of the alley.

"To a hospital."

"Are you stupid? Doflamingo is going to tear us apart if—"

"Leave Doffy to me," Rosinante said.

His tone left no room for argument but Law was not one to back down so easily. Not ever.

"Don't be an idiot, Corazón! If you take me to a hospital they're just going to throw me out or lock me in quarantine and then call the government to come exterminate me!" Law shouted.

Rosinante could see the boy's nasty scowl through his peripheral vision and it was a frightening sight. Not because of how scary it was, but because of how much he looked like Doffy when he glared like that.

Rosinante swore that he would never let Law become his brother.

"They're doctors, Law. They have to help you," he said.

"I'm telling you they won't!"

Rosinante glanced at Law. The boy's dark eyes were bloodshot and the tension that radiated from him was almost palpable. Frustration pulsed off him in waves.

Fucking hell. He had moments where he looked so much like Doffy that it hurt.

"I'll be there the whole time. So if someone wants to try something stupid then I'll break their fuckin' fingers one by one, okay?"

Law scoffed and crossed his arms, muttering a barely audible, "stupid clown."

Wanting to do something to make the boy lighten up, Rosinante reached over and set one hand on the top of Law's head and pushed his hat down into his eyes. Law immediately starting shouting at him about how stupid he was but Rosinante could only smile.

They reached the hospital in twenty minutes.

Surprisingly enough, Law stuck close to Rosinante's side. He kept his head low and made sure his hat shadowed his eyes, just in case someone should spare a glance at his speckled skin.

Which coincidentally is exactly what happened, and that was how Rosinante and Law skipped the waiting room and got taken back for an examination right away.

And it all went downhill from there.

The doctor who came in to examine Law took one look at him and then proceeded to throw a bloody fucking fit, telling one of the nurses to call the police and to put the hospital on lockdown. He yelped when he looked at Law, said they were going to die unless Law was dealt with and that was when Rosinante had enough.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Rosinante snapped at the doctor. He stood up, the stool he'd been sitting on clattering to the floor, and grabbed the man by his white coat and got right in his face.

"He's contagious! The disease will spread and kill us all! I'm trying to do you a favor!"

Rosinante stared in disbelief.

"He's a child who's sick and needs medical attention, Jackass!"

The doctor wasn't convinced. He kept staring past Rosinante at where Law was sitting on the end of the examination table.

Rosinante followed the man's eyes. Law's head hung low and there was a downward curve to his mouth that broke Rosinante's heart into a million little pieces.

He looked back at the doctor and saw a haze of red.

"Fine! We'll leave," Rosinante snarled.

He shoved the doctor back with enough force that the man fell to the floor. And then, just to make sure he fully got his point across, sauntered over to the man and grabbed him by the throat.

"If I find out that you told anyone, I'll personally come back here and break every single one of your fucking knuckles one at a time. Are we clear?"

The man whimpered and nodded, eyes glassy and watering until Rosinante finally backed off and nodded at Law.

"Come on, Law. Fuck this place. We're going home."

Law didn't argue with him and accompanied him in total silence back to the car.

He didn't speak the whole drive back. No matter how many times Rosinante tried to make light of the situation, no matter how many times Rosinante told him it was just a shitty hospital… It didn't work. Law was dead silent on the matter and it made Rosinante wish he'd never come up with the stupid idea in the first place.

The rain had started to fall by the time they arrived back at the clubhouse. Rosinante cringed as the sound of it against his car windows filled his ears and let out a sigh in spite of himself.

"What is it with you and the rain?" Law asked.

It was the first time since they left the hospital that he'd spoken and the fact that Law was willing to talk to him again after that disaster filled Rosinante with an undeniable sense of relief.

"You don't want to know that. It's too depressing," Rosinante admitted. He pulled his car around the back of the clubhouse and produced a cigarette once they were parked. He cracked a window and lit it, trying to delay the inevitable moment where he went inside and told Doffy that he didn't complete the job.

Law snorted, "try me."

Rosinante held the smoke in his lungs.

Law didn't jump out of the car right away. He simply unbuckled his seatbelt and crossed his legs beneath him as he looked at Rosinante with an exhausted expression.

Rosinante blew the smoke out of the little window crack.

"Mom's been sleeping a lot. Hasn't she?" Rosinante asked softly. The sound of the rain filled the little shack that he, his brother, and his parents all lived in and after so many days, it was starting to give young Rosinante a headache.

"She's sick. She has to sleep if she's going to get better," Doffy muttered.

"I don't know how she can with the rain. It's so loud," Rosinante complained. He brought his knees up to his chest and watched his father help their mother sit up in their bed long enough to drink broth from a cracked cup.

She looked so frail. So different from when they still lived in Mariejois.

"Who knows. She must like it though since that's the only time she sleeps."

Rosinante could still smell the shack. He could still smell mold that settled into the corners of the makeshift home. He could still smell the dampness in the air.

"My mother died in the rain," Rosinante said as nonchalantly as he could possibly manage. "She was sick and would only sleep when it was raining. When she died, it was storming."

Law was quiet for a moment and Rosinante watched raindrops slide down the driver's window.

The clock was stuck at 3:02am and Rosinante's eyes burned as he stared at it.

She was gone.

Just like that.

She went to sleep during a peaceful sun shower, only to fade away forever during a thunderstorm.

It wasn't right.

"Seems kinda dumb," Law mumbled.

Rosinante shot Law a half-hearted glare.

"Brat."

"Clown."

He let out a deep breath of smoke and continued, "that's just one of the reasons."

"What are the others?" Law asked, voice softer than before.

An image flashed behind Rosinante's eyes. An image of him clutching onto his father's shirt, of begging with his brother, of a bang, and a splatter of crimson.

"…Don't worry about it."

There was another image there. One of Doffy walking away with shadowy figures.

"I'm not worried. I was just asking," Law retorted.

Rosinante looked back over at the kid, ready to bust on him a little bit, but when he got a good look at Law, his heart leapt into the back of his throat.

The white splotches on Law's skin were growing more and more with each day. Whereas before they were confined mainly to his chest and arms, now they were creeping up his neck and onto his face.

Law stiffened under his eyes and hunched his shoulders forward as if to shield himself.

"I'm sorry about today," Rosinante said from the bottom of his heart. "I didn't think they would react like that."

"I told you," Law said without meeting his eyes.

"It was just a shitty hospital. We'll find a better one, okay? We'll find a doctor that actually gives a shit. I promise. All we have to—"

"It's fine, Corazón. I'm dying anyway. It doesn't really matter at this point," Law said under his breath.

Something ripped through Rosinante's chest. Something sharp and hot. Something heavy and overwhelming.

He wasn't sure what it was. He'd never felt anything like it before, but all he knew was that it was triggered by Law saying that he was dying and just like that, he'd been overcome with a fierce protectiveness that smothered all of his other senses.

"Hey," Rosinante said abruptly. He tossed his cigarette out the window and shifted in his seat so he could better look at Law. "Don't you ever say that, Law. You got it? You're not dying. I won't let you. We'll find you a doctor who will cure you and then you can put all of this bullshit behind you. Got it?"

Law blinked up at him with wide eyes. Eyes that were a dark charcoal gray, practically black, with a gold ring around them.

But then, just a quickly as it happened, that look on the kid's face was replaced with his trademark scowl.

"You're such an idiot!"

"Yeah yeah. You're not the first to tell me that, Brat."

Rosinante nodded at Law and got out of the car first.

Despite his black feathered jacket, the rain still found a way to soak through his clothes in a matter of seconds.

Rosinante shrugged his jacket off once they got inside and looked down at where Law was wringing his hat out.

He looked so tired. There were circles under his bloodshot eyes and his whole body seemed to be deflating.

"Do you want me to make you some tea?" Rosinante asked, pushing his wet bangs away from his face.

Law shook his head.

"We should go see Young Master."

Rosinante's jaw locked.

"No, you need to go to bed," he said as gently as possible.

Law glared at him yet again.

"Stop being such a fucking dumbass!"

Rosinante cocked his head to the side as Law berated him for blatantly choosing to ignore the rules of the Family, for disrespecting Doffy so much, and for being an overall "stupid fucking clown" that didn't have a shred of self preservation.

And once Law's temper tantrum came to an end, Rosinante plunged his hands into his pockets and said an easy, "feel better?"

Law's pale cheeks flushed in embarrassment and Rosinante didn't even try to fight back the grin that sneaked its way onto his face.

"Why are you smiling?" Law snapped.

"Because I'm a stupid clown and that's what we do," Rosinante said with a quiet laugh. Law fumed and stormed off, stomping his feet like the petulant child that he was, muttering curses about how much he detested Rosinante.

It was honestly hilarious and adorable and Rosinante felt warmth spread through his entire chest.

He was a bratty little kid with a horrible temper but that didn't deter Rosinante. How could it when he was trying to find a cure?

Speaking of…

Law may have been in the middle of a temper tantrum, but he was right. Rosinante still needed to go report to Doffy and tell him about the failed job.

It was late enough in the evening that Doffy was certainly still awake but was likely in his bedroom instead of the card room.

Rosinante made his way there and rested his hand on the doorknob of his brother's door but paused when he heard voices on the other side.

After walking in on Doffy getting head from a prostitute, Rosinante learned to be careful about when he saw his brother. And fucking hell, if Doffy was planning on doing that again as a way to flex his power, then Rosinante was going to report to him in the morning instead.

But when he listened a little closer, he realized that it was two men talking. His brother and someone else.

Against his better judgment, he lingered.

"…It's called the Ope-Ope… Enzyme that… I know…"

Rosinante strained his ears as much as he could and leaned closer to the door.

"Says he's got a year… Rosi thinks…"

Rosinante pushed his ear against the door now, all sense of subtlety out the window.

"We can get the deal of a lifetime for that fruit, Young Master. Law's a lost cause anyway."

Trebol…

Rosinante's blood boiled and against all better judgment, he clenched the doorknob in his fist and swung the door open.

Doffy was sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his temples, listening to Trebol drone on and on when Rosinante so rudely interrupted them.

Trebol jumped at the sudden intrusion and gaped at Rosinante.

"What are you doing, Corazón?"

"What's this shit about Law being a lost cause?" Rosinante asked. He didn't spare another glance at Trebol and focused on Doffy instead.

Doffy brought a wine bottle up to his lips and took a long swig before answering.

"I think we may have found something that could help with his disease. It's a fruit that supposedly has an enzyme in it that can eat away at the toxic buildup in the brat's system," Doffy said dully. And as if to make a point, he nodded at Trebol.

The disgusting, sniveling man gave Rosinante a nasty smile that showed off his yellowed, crooked teeth.

"Yes. It's quite valuable. One of Doffy's contacts stole it from the feds."

Rosinante looked back at Doffy.

Something wasn't right with him.

His brother wasn't wearing a shirt and despite the ceiling fan blowing on him and the wide open window, Rosinante could see sweat beading along his collarbone.

"Then why are we sitting here? Let's go get it," Rosinante deadpanned.

"You shouldn't speak to Young Master like that," Trebol said, though Rosinante could hardly hear him with the way everything that wasn't Doffy melted into a plane of nonexistence.

"Doffy?" Rosinante tried.

Doffy rubbed his temples and put the wine bottle back to his lips, finishing off the rest of the bottle as droplets of red liquid rolled down his chin and neck.

"I have a fucking headache," Doffy hissed. He rubbed his forehead next and huffed in frustration.

"Come back later, Corazón. Young Master and I are in the middle of a very important discussion."

"The only reason Young Master knows about this fruit is because I asked him to find something to help Law. So if you two are talking about that, then I have a right to be here," Rosinante snapped.

He was walking on thin ice with the level of disrespect and sarcasm, and he damn well knew it.

But the sound of them calling Law a lost cause buzzed in his ears and it made that same protective instinct shroud him like a cloak.

"Show some respect," Trebol hissed.

"To who? You or Doffy? Because in case you didn't realize, I'm here for him, not you."

"Corazón, if you know what's good for you, you'll—"

"Would you both shut the fuck up?" Doffy cut in. He rubbed his head with one hand and threw the other one out at Trebol. "And close the fucking window! I can't stand listening to all of this fucking rain!"

Rosinante froze.

"That's all it ever fucking does anymore—is fucking rain. I'm so fucking sick of it!" Doffy snapped as he clutched the wine bottle in his fingers and threw it across the room.

Trebol sputtered out an apology and hurried over to Doffy's window and pulled it shut.

Rosinante didn't apologize at all. He merely worked his jaw as he examined his brother in the warm light.

He was still sweating and his chest was flushed as if he was feverish.

Drugs maybe? Alcohol?

"Since when do you care about the rain?" Rosinante asked in a low voice.

Doffy's glasses reflected in the light and he looked up at where Rosinante stood a few feet away.

"Don't you start with me, Rosinante."

"Start what? It was just a question."

Doffy's lip curled into a snarl.

"Did you want something? Or did you just come up here to accuse me of not caring about Law?" Doffy asked. His voice was gruff. So different from how smooth it normally was.

"I came up here to report on my job. It's not my fault you and Trebol seem to have other plans for Law's cure," Rosinante said. He was careful to keep his voice monotone and disinterested, though he knew that Doffy probably saw right through it.

Doffy scoffed and nodded at Trebol.

"Go on then. Tell my brother what you told me."

Trebol faltered.

"B-but Young Master, are you—"

"Trebol."

It was all Doffy needed to say to stir the man into action.

"I was telling Young Master that the Ope-Ope fruit is a possible cure for the Amber Lead Syndrome and is worth a substantial amount of money," Trebol said. He hardly looked at Rosinante as he said it and instead busied himself with fiddling with his blue jacket.

"So what? You're going to sell it, Doffy?" Rosinante asked.

"Fucking hell, do you ever stop?" Doffy asked. "I told you I would try to find a cure for Law, didn't I?"

Rosinante kept his mouth shut but nodded.

"And didn't I just tell you that I found a fucking cure?"

Silence on Rosinante's part again.

"Exactly. We were talking about how much the thing is worth because that's the only way we're going to track it down," Doffy said. He stood up from the bed and sauntered over to Rosinante until he stood well within his personal bubble. "Is there a particular reason why you can't seem to trust me, Corazón?"

Chills went down Rosinante's spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

If only Sengoku could see him now. What would he say?

"It's not that I don't trust you, Doffy. I just want to cure Law."

Doffy's jaw locked for a long moment. He said nothing. He did nothing.

Rosinante watched dust specks settle on his brother's rose-tinted glasses.

"Law, Law, Law. Is that the only fucking thing you talk about anymore? A dying little brat with a bad attitude? Is he more important to you than your own brother? Than your own flesh and blood?"

Rosinante's fight or flight response kicked into overdrive and if he could have bolted out of there without looking suspicious, then he would have done it.

"He's just a kid, Doffy."

"And I'm just your brother," Doffy responded. He brought his hand up to the side of Rosinante's head and held him there with an iron grip. "Why do I get the feeling that you're up to something, Rosi?"

Rosinante fixed his face into the best scowl he could muster.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.

Doffy didn't answer him. He just held him there in the deafening silence.

It was probably the first time in Rosinante's adult life that he actually wished he could hear the rain… Anything would have been preferable to the maddening silence that emanated from his brother.

And then, just like that, Doffy let him go.

"Leave me. Both of you."

Unlike Trebol, Rosinante didn't need to be told twice. He got right the fuck out of there while Trebol whined and begged Doffy to let him stay just a little bit longer.

Once he was away from his brother's room and on his way to the clubhouse's library, Rosinante sighed and ran his hands over his face.

Doffy was going to snap sooner or later, and Rosinante didn't want to be anywhere near him when that happened.

His pulse quickened and he felt nauseous.

Doffy was going to do something with that fruit, Rosinante was sure of it. His brother was going to try and sell the thing for every cent it was worth and throw Law under the bus in the process.

And fine. Rosinante might not have expected much else from Doffy, but still. That didn't make it any easier to digest.

There was one solution. One way to cure Law's disease and get him out of the Family before Doffy found out that Rosinante was a trader.

They would have to run away and steal the fruit before Doffy could.

All they needed was a plan.


Author's note: Sorry for being one day late! I rewrote this entire chapter and it wasn't ready last night. So here you are now!

Drop any and all feedback with a review please and thank you!(: